


I'll be Home for Christmas

by Kaglen



Category: Garrison's Gorillas
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:41:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21710566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaglen/pseuds/Kaglen
Summary: 5 short seasonal pieces about the 5 characters who make up the team Garrison's Gorillas
Comments: 16
Kudos: 7





	1. Chief

Chief walked slowly along the gravel path, his footfall almost silent even though there was no need for stealth. He had just shared a Christmas meal with his three colleagues, the food was good and the beer and wine had flowed liberally. Casino and Goniff had been, noisy, funny and argumentative as usual, while Actor, as the accepted second in command in Garrison’s absence, watched over his charges with mild amusement. Once the meal was over each man had taken the opportunity for some time alone, Goniff disappeared with a book tucked under his arm, Casino went for a walk and Actor had an afternoon of peaceful seclusion to enjoy. Chief liked the camaraderie and the sense of being part of a team but he was much happier to be outdoors at last; away from the confines of walls and the restrictions other people imposed, if unintentional. The four men lived and worked together so closely privacy was essential from time to time and although Chief was the youngest member of the group he needed and sought solitude more than the others.  
He stopped and gazed at the landscape he now knew so well, it didn’t hold the awe-inspiring grandeur of his birthplace; it was understated, much softer and very beautiful even in the stark chill of winter. The late afternoon held a stillness that was hard to find in a war-torn world. Only a few days earlier he and his three colleagues had been caught up in the noise and horror of battle. Lieutenant Garrison was reported missing in action weeks ago and the convicts had expected to be sent back to prison, but time passed and they decided they had either been forgotten or ignored. Then they received the news that Garrison had made contact but was still behind enemy lines, so the four men had been sent to bring their ‘Warden’ back to safety and as they did found themselves in the middle of the German counter-offensive in the Ardennes. Despite the carnage and confusion they had managed to get back to Allied held territory but the Lt. had been injured and was unconscious. He was now in hospital only a few miles away but there was still no news of any improvement in his condition.  
The path began to climb; at the top of the rise Chief paused for a moment, the gentle landscape rolled away towards a blue hazed horizon and in the foreground was the beautiful old manor house that was his temporary home. The honey coloured stone seemed to glow in the soft light of late winter sun. A smile of irony touched his lips, how many young men with his background had the chance to call a place like that ‘home’. He’d lived in so many places he’d lost count, from the beauty of his place of birth where he was cared for, safe and secure with his mother and father, to the loneliness and insecurity of being a young man alone in New York City. How different life may have been if his parents had not been killed in a freak accident. He was only eleven when they died, his sister just eight, at first they stayed with relatives, then they had to go into children’s homes. As the years went by they were separated and somehow lost contact, Chief still had no idea what happened to his sister, he didn’t even know if she was still alive. The pain of his loss, though dulled by time, still hurt and the young man gazed out across the rolling hills seeking comfort in the still silence of the day.  
He was a man of few words who, despite his youth, rarely showed emotion no matter how deep. A man who, for a long time, did not feel as though he belonged anywhere and yet over the past months he had come to experience that elusive sense of belonging. The men with whom he had just shared a meal and Lt Garrison had made that possible and he would always be grateful to them. In their eyes and more importantly in his own he was no longer a ‘dumb Indian’ or ‘Redskin’. Sure, there were times when he and Casino had spats, just as they had in the early days when his Native American heritage was an easy target for the safecracker who would taunt him with names and jibes purposely goading the younger man to fight. An ironic smile flickered across his face; he didn’t mind the nickname ‘Chief’ but that was because it didn’t hurt anymore.  
He walked on, following the path through a wooded area until he came to an arched gate in the perimeter wall of the estate. Using a trick he had learned from Casino he picked the lock and was soon out of the grounds on the road to the village. At the crossroads he turned left and climbed the slight incline towards the beautiful old church of St Edmund.  
What had brought him here? He didn’t need to go into a church, for his church was all around him but Chief could feel the sense of age old spirituality here. He moved to the building itself and placed his hand on the ancient stones, how many people had come here to find peace, seek guidance or, as the people inside were doing now, worship and praise God. He had seen the candlelight in the windows and could hear the organ playing as the congregation assembled. Had Christmas brought him here as it had brought those inside? Many people thought Native Americans knew nothing about Christmas, ‘heathen’ was a common taunt, and yet some had become Christians with the arrival of the first settlers, over three hundred years ago. Chief knew about Christmas, he’d lived in a home run by a Methodist Minister and his wife and they had taught all the children about the Nativity often using Carols to explain the wondrous story.  
The young man stood in the gathering shadows; he’d been thinking about the past, dare he hope for a future if he survived the war. Once his parents had died he had spent most of his life on the move, from one children’s home to another, once he had broken the law he’d had to go on the run until prison stopped him. He had no roots and nowhere he could call home. Chief knew he didn’t want to stay with the army, he could hide behind the anonymity of the uniform but that was tantamount to running away from the world and from himself. He would still have no permanent home and that need had suddenly become very important. Maybe he could go back west, to the place of his birth and work with young Native Americans using his experiences to try and help them keep out of trouble. He could begin to put down roots and make a home; all he needed was faith in himself. Lt Garrison had put his faith and trust into four men who were judged to be untrustworthy, he had taken a chance, it was time to stop running and do the same.  
Chief stepped back, the stained glass windows glowed in the gathering dusk as the candles flickered and burned. There was the promise of a sharp frost on the air and the evening star was already bright in the darkening sky. He could hear the organ playing a familiar tune ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’ he stood and listened to the congregation sing the words he had learned as a child, ‘The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight’. He had hopes and he knew there would be fears but he had a goal now and a sense of purpose. Chief’s exceptional hearing then picked up the sound of footsteps; he turned to see a young woman hurrying along the path and heading for the church. She could not fail to see him so it was pointless to try to avoid her.  
“Good afternoon, or is it evening now?” The lady stopped and greeted Chief with a gentle smile. “Oh Dear, they’ve already started the service and I am always late no matter how hard I try.”  
“Ma’am.” Chief touched the front of his Field Service cap in salute.  
“You’re a long way from home, Soldier. Are you going to the service?”  
Chief hesitated; there was the word ‘home’ again. He looked down at her upturned face as she waited for his response. He still didn’t need or want to go into the church; he had found the answers he had been looking for within himself, answers that had been there all the time but had proved so hard to find.  
“No Ma’am.” He said quietly.  
The lady studied him for a moment.  
“You are very welcome to come in you know.”  
“Thank you but I think I’ll stay out here.”  
“It is beautiful,” she acknowledged, “it’s getting very cold though, so if you will excuse me I’ll go inside, not that it will be much warmer because there is no heating.” The young woman smiled again and then made to leave but turned back, “Merry Christmas,” she said softly. 

Chief’s dark eyes met her steady gaze for a moment. “Thank you, Ma’am. Merry Christmas.”


	2. Goniff

Goniff looked at his surroundings from the comfort of a leather wingback chair. This was his favourite room, with panelled walls, carved plasterwork ceilings and furnishings far more luxurious than he had ever known. A Christmas tree stood in the corner; the long treasured baubles glimmered in the firelight from a large log burning in the grate. The only noises were the gentle tick of a long case clock and the crackling of the fire. He had just eaten a very good lunch and sighed with satisfaction as he took a sip of port from the glass beside him. It was Christmas Day and now he needed to have time alone with his thoughts of times past, of family and of friends.  
What would his old mates from the East End think of him, Rodney Lane, in a ‘toff’s’ house? Albeit courtesy of the United States Army, but that did not detract from the fact his present home was a mansion. As a boy, home was a very modest, rented ‘two up and two down’, but his parents always tried to get Christmas treats for him and his young sister Joyce. Their stockings would contain nuts, an orange and maybe a spinning top for him and a dolly for Joyce. A fresh lick of paint for the top and a new set of lovingly knitted clothes for the dolly would hide the fact the toys were second hand but as kids they didn’t know and would not have cared. In fact he had few cares as a youngster and knew nothing of the daily struggle his parents faced to earn enough money because his Dad’s wage on the London Docks was so unreliable. When his father did have a healthy pay packet he would, like many others, celebrate in drink but all credit due, he never laid a finger on his family. Goniff remembered only too well that most of his mates had bruises and their mothers often sported a black eye to show for a ‘good’ wage.  
The blond shook his head, what would life have been like if Joyce had lived? She died aged 7 of influenza and things were never the same, his mother was naturally grief stricken but his father was devastated. He had been gassed in the First World War and only held onto his job at the docks because of past friendships. After Joyce died he seemed to give up and rarely worked again. The effects of the gas attack came to the fore and even now Goniff could hear the dreadful wheezing sounds as his father battled to get the air into his damaged lungs. He shuddered at the memory and lost himself in the pictures amongst the flames.  
His mother had to take in washing, in his mind’s eye he saw her, bone tired with reddened, sore hands but there was always more washing to do and the income for all that work a mere pittance. Rodney, aged 10, had to grow up fast and help to provide for the family, he soon realised that his job as an errand boy after school was not enough, so he began to steal. It started with food, he could justify that, they had to eat and if Mum ever guessed where the extras came from she never said. Then he started to steal from stores and began to enjoy the challenge and the thrill. Eventually he learnt the art of the pickpocket and the rest was history, thieving became his living.  
The Englishman wondered what Mum would say if she could see him. His thoughts turned to New York; his widowed mother had moved to the United States to be with him. She would be up and about making herself a cup of tea in her shabby but spotlessly clean apartment. He had been amazed at how well she had settled in the huge city that had now become home, but where was his home? He wasn’t sure any more. He’d been into London many times over the past few years but the Luftwaffe had reduced the East End he knew to rubble and V-2 rockets were still destroying the capital indiscriminately. He loved England and London, battered as she was, but was it still home? He was sure of one thing; he was not going to make prison his home again. He had the chance to make something of himself. Garrison had given him that chance and he had good friends in Casino, Actor and Chief, particularly Casino. Home was wherever you made it, people were more important.  
The man rose to his feet and picked up the poker from the hearth; he stabbed at the burning log and watched a fountain of red and gold sparks tumble into the grate. He sat down, took another sip of his port and settled back into the chair. The others knew he needed solitude from time to time but they did not know just how many hours he had spent in that room when sleep would not come before a mission or when the nightmares kept him awake on their return. They’d come back from their last one three days ago and there had been many times during the assignment when he was convinced he wouldn’t live to see Christmas. Garrison had been missing for weeks but had managed to make contact and they had been sent to Europe to get him out. A German counter offensive was underway and the Lieutenant had been injured. They managed to get him back safely to England but the last report from the hospital was that he was still unconsciousness.  
Goniff had been surprised that he and his colleagues hadn’t been sent back to prison once Garrison was declared ‘missing’. The ‘brass’ as Casino would say, must have forgotten about them, but someone remembered and they were tasked to get their ‘Warden’ back to safety. Although there was fear and uncertainty, they all wanted to go because whatever happened, they would always be grateful to the Lieutenant for having faith when others had not and for giving them all a chance.  
There was that word again ‘chance’, a chance to do what? To prove that they could make a difference, to prove they were worthwhile human beings not just ‘cons’ or ‘hoods’. Yes they had been using their criminal skills working with Garrison but they had been using them for the defeat of Nazism and for peace. All over the world today people were singing Christmas Carols about peace. Would it ever come?  
The long case clock began to chime Goniff automatically looked at his watch it was time to go. He got to his feet and smoothed down his uniform, his East End pals would be surprised to see him in the uniform of a country that was his by adoption only and as for Mum, well she would be proud and justifiably so. Okay so he wasn’t a real soldier but he had fought his war in the best way he could and done a pretty good job, so far. Next time he saw the Warden he would remind him again that he was not a soldier, not that the man would listen. Goniff smiled, in that moment he was sure that Garrison would recover and all would be well.  
He went to the door and turned to look again at the room that was his sanctuary. He’d had his little wallow in his memories but there was no lingering self-pity, it wasn’t in his nature and the future would always look after itself. It was time to join in with the festivities again, with a light step Goniff headed for the kitchens.  
“Hello Cookie, those for me.” He addressed the Sergeant in charge with his usual lack of deference and picked up a big basket of cakes and mince pies, plus a large metal container full of ice cream. The usually stern cook smiled.  
“Yeah, courtesy of Uncle Sam. Give ‘em a good time will ya!”  
“Course we will, they’ll love these. Thanks a lot mate.”  
The blond left the kitchen by the back door, munching the extra mince pie he had taken from the silver tray set for Officers’ teas. He set off to meet Casino; the treats he carried would go down well at the kids’ party in the village. It would be the first taste of ice cream for some of the little ones, strange how something so small would make such a difference. He stepped out and began to whistle a Carol, the war wasn’t over but he had a lot to be thankful for, his whistling soon turned to singing. “God rest ye Merry Gentlemen let nothing you dismay.”  
“Merry Christmas Yank.” called a Land Army girl passing by on a bicycle.  
Goniff grinned, if only she knew. He returned her greeting, cheerfully.  
“Merry Christmas.”


	3. Casino

Casino leaned over the parapet and gazed down at the stream flowing beneath the old stone bridge. Taking a last draw on his cigarette he flicked the butt into the water, smoothed down his uniform and set his field service cap at the correct angle on his dark hair. He’d had a few beers with his Christmas meal and though far from drunk he needed the fresh air, a walk and some time alone.  
He strolled along the village street; it was deserted and very quiet as the residents spent time with their families that Christmas afternoon, or more precisely the family members who were there, wartime duties permitting. He glanced at his watch, it would be morning in New York and his own family would be awake. His brothers and sisters all had children; he’d almost lost count of how many nieces and nephews he had, but he could imagine the noise and excitement in their homes. The adults all speaking at once, each vying to be first with any news, while the kids opened their parcels in a frenzy of coloured paper and ribbons. Then after Church they would all descend on Mama for a huge Christmas Lunch. Over the years his family had adopted some of the Holiday traditions of America and combined them with others from their Italian homeland. Casino could almost taste his mother’s wonderful home cooking and hear the incessant chatter and noise from young and old alike. What a contrast to this still and silent village.  
How in hell’s name had he got here? Britain was a God forsaken, battle worn country with no central heating and in some places no modern plumbing, there were however, plenty of Brussels sprouts, Casino grimaced. Hah! He was in this country because he had chosen to come here, Lieutenant Garrison had given him the chance to work with his team of convicts and gain a parole. He had taken the opportunity because it was better than ten years ‘in stir’ and he knew it, despite the Brussels sprouts. A smile flickered across the man’s strong features. He couldn’t fault the welcome from the British people though; the four men who made up the team had been taken into the hearts of the locals once Garrison had given them his trust and permission to go the village and so what if they went without his permission sometimes? The people held no preconceived ideas and made no judgements, the men were simply ‘GI’.  
Casino had been surprised he was still in England, with Garrison declared ‘missing in action’. As each day dawned he had expected to go back to prison along with the other three convicts but eventually he decided they had been forgotten. Until the message came through that the Lieutenant was alive, someone remembered them then and the four men were sent out to affect a rescue, in the very place the Germans had chosen to counter attack. Under heavy bombardment they got out but Garrison was injured and was now in hospital, they were still waiting for news. There were times when he and the officer clashed, two men, each strong willed and driven by conviction were bound to disagree but despite their differences he would always remember that his work with the Lieutenant would ultimately give him his parole and therefore the option to change his life if he chose to do so.  
The Italian/American kicked at a loose pebble in the road, it clattered noisily in the silence of the afternoon. What would the people in the neat little houses think of him if they knew his background? Born into a close and loving family but a family where crime was their way of life, their means of putting food on the table and clothes on their backs. The men planned heists as other families would plan a day trip to the beach, once the plans were made, the women would come in with food and the talk would be of cousins, of neighbours and of babies. Protection money was paid without question because everybody in the neighbourhood did the same. The sense of family was everything, loyalty was to be given unfailingly, Mass was always attended and confession made to the priest. Casino knew what he said to Father Peroni, but what passed the lips of the others? He stopped walking and looked up at the ancient Church of Saint Edmund, sitting at the top of a slight rise and standing protectively over the close-knit community below as it had done for centuries. He was a world away from home.  
Casino turned his gaze back to the cluster of houses; the post office come shop, the pub and the manor house in the distance. The quiet calm and innocence of the place soothed and comforted him but he was sure it would smother him if he stayed here. He was equally sure that the love of own family would also smother him if he went back into their midst. They would welcome him with love, noise and tears of joy, a prodigal son, a war hero granted a parole for serving his country but he would soon find himself sucked back into the relentless cycle of crime, confession and more crime if he was lucky, or crime, confession and prison if he were not.  
He turned to look at the Church again, he had passed by a few days ago and heard the choir singing a carol, the words were those he had learnt at school but the tune was different. The tune he knew had a light and gentle lilt whereas here in England it was much heavier and ponderous. The Christmas carol had been a potent reminder of childhood, of family and of home and they had been foremost in his thoughts since he had heard it. Christmas was also a time for peace, so why was he three thousand miles away from home and still fighting a war? The ancient building before him had been a House of God for centuries a reminder of faith of those gone before and would be here for those still to come. He took a few steps forward but then hesitated, dare he go inside? It was not a Catholic Church but did that matter? What would he find in there? Reasons? Solutions?  
He knew his past but should he allow himself to think about a future? The military was not for him. Staying in England was an option; he could start a new life, maybe not in this village, but a small town or city. He would have a clean slate but would he ever regard this country as home? America was the place of his birth, his homeland and held the family he loved but if he wanted to use his skills honestly to earn a living he knew he would have to move away from his family and their all encompassing love. Would he be allowed to go? Would they understand? He shook his head to clear the cycle of thoughts; he had to survive the war first, so the decision may never have to be made. A few moments in Church couldn’t hurt; nobody would know. He made to move forwards again and then saw lighted candles appear in one of the stained glass windows, someone was inside. Casino stopped dead, he wanted answers but he was not ready for questions.  
He gazed at the flickering lights behind the jewel coloured glass for a few moments and then with a sigh he wasn’t aware of making he turned away and began to make his way back down the hill. With a clearing sky and the promise of frost on the air Casino stepped out faster to keep warm and to get to his meeting place on time. His mood lifted as he walked and he found that the long remembered tune of ‘It Came Upon a Midnight Clear’ ran through his head over and over again. Different tunes different countries, both had given him a home and the future? Well that would have to take care of itself.  
“Come on Mate. It’s perishing out ‘ere let’s get inside.”  
Goniff’s voice cut straight into Casino’s thoughts, the dark haired man looked up and grinned at the slight figure laden with a large basket and metal container. Chief and Actor were colleagues, members of the team but Goniff had become a real friend, a pal.  
“Okay, okay. What have you got in there?”  
“ ‘Uncle Sam’s Ices’ mince pies and cakes, the kids will love it, some won’t have even seen ice–cream let alone tasted it.”  
“You’re kidding.” Goniff shook his head and lead the way to a large green door; he stood aside to let Casino turn the handle and enter the building. Laughter, chatter, and excitement filled the main room of the village hall, paper chains and a decorated Christmas tree added to the festive atmosphere of the children’s Christmas party. Twenty to thirty bright eyed, happy young faces turned towards the two men as they entered.  
“Merry Christmas.” Chorused the youngsters.  
Goniff and Casino grinned at one another, moving forward together and replying as one they echoed the age-old greeting.  
“Merry Christmas.”


	4. Actor

Actor had the room to himself although an empty glass on the mahogany table next to the chair gave testament to someone else’s presence before he had arrived. He moved the glass aside, automatically wafting it under his nose as he did, the bouquet, that of port. He put a crystal brandy goblet in its place and poured a generous measure of fine cognac from a silver pocket-flask, watching the rich copper coloured liquid flow into the heavily faceted bowl as he did. His guess was that Goniff had been the last occupant of the chair, taking the opportunity to have some time alone. Casino and Chief had gone for a walk separately leaving the comfort of mansion they all called ‘home’ albeit temporary. Each of the four men who worked and lived together so closely needed solitude, maybe even more so, on Christmas Day.  
The handsome Italian took his seat, he would have preferred to spend his time in the library but it was too cold. The additional fuel restrictions affected everyone; even those living on estates with ample supply of logs, so the number of fires in the manor house had been restricted. Supplies in the shops were scarce and the low morale amongst the Allied Forces and civilians had plummeted even lower with the news of the German counter offensive in the Ardennes. Christmas 1944; the war should have been over but the killing went on.  
It was difficult to erase the memories of the mission to bring Lieutenant Garrison back to safety. Caught up in the battle that still raged in Belgium, the five men had taken refuge in a ravine with some American soldiers, then a shell dropped nearby; the blast had thrown Garrison against the rocks like a rag doll. Once Actor had recovered himself he went to help the officer who lay unmoving and covered in blood, he had checked the younger man for injuries but found none. It was only then that he realised one of the GI’s had taken the force of the explosion and it was his blood and gore that covered the Lieutenant. Garrison was, however, deeply unconscious and the latest report from the hospital was that he remained so.  
Why the four convicts had not been sent back to prison once Garrison had been declared missing was still a puzzle. Maybe the ‘brass’ had known something all along or maybe they had simply been forgotten but Actor chose not to dwell on the issue; he had other matters to consider. He put out his hand in order to pick up his cognac, more than ready to enjoy the indulgence, but then felt something hard wedged between the cushion and the arm of the leather chair, he reached down and pulled out a book. A smile flickered across his face as he read the spine ‘A Christmas Carol’ by Charles Dickens; a cliché and proof, if needed, of Goniff’s presence before him. He placed the book on the table, the little thief’s predictability irritated him, but maybe he was being too harsh, the author was, after all, part of the Englishman’s heritage.  
He picked up the crystal goblet, cupping it in his hand to warm the brandy before taking a sip and savouring the pleasure. His mind wandered to Dickens’s tale of Scrooge, a man who was alone in the world, a man who needed stark reminders of humanity and generosity, reminders that came in the form of ghostly spirits. Actor was also alone in the world but there were no other similarities to Scrooge and he needed no apparitions to guide him back over his life.  
Born the son of a minor Italian aristocrat Actor had been brought up in a beautiful home, filled with fine furnishings, paintings and family treasures but with very little monetary wealth. He had learnt his lifelong appreciation of the arts, his charm and his elegance from his mother; a beautiful woman both in body and in spirit, she had died when he was only fourteen. His father never really recovered from the loss of his wife and followed her to the grave only two years later but not before he had taught his son more of life’s lessons; gentlemanly behaviour, knowledge of languages and how to treat ladies with courtesy and consideration.  
Actor had known from an early age that there would be very little left to inherit, as the years passed family possessions had been sold in order to survive in the turbulent state that was Italy after The Great War. The reading of the will confirmed what the young man already knew, the villa had to be sold, however, he was fortunate in that many family friends were kind enough to ask him to stay as a houseguest and thereby gave him a home. Intelligent and intuitive beyond his sixteen years Actor knew he could not rely on the kindness of friends indefinitely and soon learnt just how long to stay before moving on, leaving each of his hosts charmed and always ready to offer a further invitation at a later date.  
The young man led a comfortable life, but he knew that was due to the generosity of others and it was wealth that allowed people to be generous. He was also well aware of what could have happened had he not been so lucky, he had seen poverty and squalor, and vowed that he would never allow himself to become victim to that. He had no profession or trade and knew that if he wanted to maintain his much loved way of life, he would have to bend the rules. What began with charm, eloquence and flattery soon evolved into manipulation and ultimately the confidence game. A game at which Actor became an undoubted Grand Master, taking on whatever role was needed to provide him with the luxury and comfort he desired.  
He travelled around Italy and Europe in the 1930’s living well and depositing money in various bank accounts. Handsome and debonair he partnered many beautiful women but he did not want to commit himself to one woman and would love and leave his lady-friends with such grace they never held a grudge. As years passed the rumblings of another war in Europe grew louder and began to threaten his way of life but Actor had always kept his options open. America was waiting; virgin territory, a challenge and one he could not resist. He worked The United States as he had Europe and at first all went well; he made money, met more beautiful women and enjoyed life. Then, as Casino said, he found a judge he couldn’t con and ended up in prison. Despite the warmth of the fire and his snifter of brandy Actor shuddered, prison was vile; it offended and insulted him in every way. When Garrison offered him the opportunity to work for parole he had taken it as a drowning man would grab at a life preserver. Nobody knew how desperate he had been to get out of prison he had lived through the ordeal with apparent dignity and forbearance but that was the art of a con man.  
Actor had spent Christmas in many countries taken part in a variety of customs and traditions from secular and jolly to the spiritual and more reverent. In a moment the handsome man was transported back to his father’s villa. It was Christmas Eve and he could see himself as a young boy, immaculately dressed, as were his parents, ready to go to Midnight Mass. Soft candlelight played on the family Crib, the centre piece of Italian homes. There would be another more magnificent Crib in the church when they got there, his mother held out her hand for him to take, her smile gentle, her eyes kind. The image faded and the man’s thoughts turned to Christmas in Great Britain, his second here but the sixth Christmas of the war for many.  
Casino, Chief and Goniff were not men he would have chosen to work with but he had to admit that they had become a good team under Garrison’s leadership. His sipped his brandy and gave a rueful smile; he had thought Goniff’s choice of book was a cliché but hadn’t he just reviewed his own life, just as Scrooge had done but what of the Spirit of Christmas yet to come, like Scrooge it was in his own hands.   
He was the oldest member of the team and had to consider a time ‘after the war’ if he survived. The others would go home, wherever home was, he had no roots and needed none. He would have access to money and female companions he could call upon once the war was over, but what would he do? There had to be a way to use his talents legitimately. He was intelligent, well read and gifted in languages. There would be many refugees and displaced persons throughout Europe when the war did finish and with a reference from Garrison and the Army he might be allowed to utilise his skills to help rebuild those shattered lives in some way.  
Pushing his thoughts aside for a moment he realised how dark the room had become, the firelight was pleasant but he would soon need more light. He left the comfort of his chair and moved to the window, the evening star was low in the sky and a haze of frost was gathering in the corners of the windows. Somewhere a wireless was playing a carol, ‘Hark the herald angels sing, glory to the newborn King’ the words written by another Englishman, Charles Wesley. He listened for a moment then pulled the heavy drapes across the window before switching on a lamp on a nearby table. Moving back across the room he considered the next line of the carol ‘Peace on Earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled.’ Suddenly a movement caught his eye; it was his own reflection in a mirror. He paused, he had sinned and was now reconciled, he smiled at his own thoughts, studied the image for a moment longer then raised his glass in a toast to himself.  
Buon Natale.


	5. Garrison

Craig Garrison drifted between the conscious and unconscious world, a world where time and space lost their parameters and where dreams and reality merged. The struggle to full consciousness continued to defeat him but he had achieved a certain level of perception. He knew that he was no longer lying in a rock-strewn gully, cold and soaked to the skin. Wherever he was now, it was comfortable, warm and dry. However, the intense pain in his head as he tried to break through to the surface of complete awareness made him content to sink back into the depths of oblivion again and the music was very restful. Music?  
‘In the Bleak Midwinter’, it was a familiar tune. ‘Bleak?’ ‘Midwinter?’ The Belgian Ardennes, that’s where he had been before coming here. It was bleak; it was mid-winter, snowing and bitterly cold. There had been a bombardment, shelling, a German attack; unexpected and hard to believe when the Allies had been back on mainland Europe for six months. Could there be a successful counter offensive by the enemy now? The barrage had been heavy, prolonged and accurate. He had taken shelter in the gully with – with whom? The names, the faces and then the thought escaped.  
‘In the Bleak Midwinter’, he’d always thought of it as such an ‘English’ Carol. He knew it was one of Beth’s favourites, she’d told him so last year when they had spent precious hours together just before Christmas. He could remember those snatched moments with her so well but not the events that had brought him to this place. Would he ever see Beth again? Touch her? Hold her? He tried to climb out of the void, he had to get out, a murmured groan of frustration escaped him when, once again, he failed to achieve his goal.  
There were voices in the background now. Feminine voices, soft and quiet, calm and soothing but the words floated away before he could catch them. Gentle fingers held his wrist, cool hands touched his forehead, comforting and reassuring. He was content to return to the tranquillity of the darkness.  
Time passed but how long? Garrison lay still, aware of his own breathing, aware now of only a dull ache in his head instead of the piercing pains that had been there before. This time he managed to break through to the surface and open his eyes. He learnt immediately not to move his head too quickly as waves of nausea washed over him. He tried to focus on something, anything that would give him perspective and stop the room spinning. The blurred shapes sharpened very slowly; he was, without doubt, in a hospital, but where was the hospital? He scanned the room slowly looking for clues, there were none. His watch had been removed and he wondered what time it was, he turned to the window, it was daylight, probably late afternoon. He lay still and watched the shadows lengthen and the light fade away as the evening star rose to a point low on the horizon. Frost was already forming in the corners of the window panes, he shuddered at a sudden memory of bitter cold, gore and blood stained snow but how long ago? Returning to the relative safety of the present he could imagine the glittering ice crystals covering the outside world and in the distance he was sure he could hear music.  
‘Stille Nacht Heilige Nacht’. He leaned back against the pillow with a sigh of resignation; a wry smile crossed his lips. They were some of the first words he had been taught in German as a boy in Pennsylvania and he had continued to study the language into adulthood. This knowledge helped towards his selection for OSS and for missions behind enemy lines in Europe. It would be ironic if this simple Carol had ultimately brought him to captivity in Germany. He tried to sit up to look around the room again; there wasn’t even a book or sign to give indication of his whereabouts. He knew he was too weak and nauseous to risk getting out of bed, but he was sure he would know his fate soon enough.  
A nurse came into the darkened room; her uniform rustled with starch as she passed the bottom of the bed, closed the heavy blackout curtains and ensured the window was completely obscured. Garrison heard rather than saw her as she moved back towards him he dare not speak. Was this young woman also his warder?  
The nurse turned the bedside lamp away from her patient to avoid dazzling him should he be awake. She then switched on the lamp and smiled as she met his tired but steady gaze. Her practiced eye took in the pallor and fatigue but the most important thing was that he was conscious. She laid her palm against his forehead; the dark blond hair was slightly damp, she began to take his pulse. His blue-green eyes were wary as he watched her routine.  
“Hello Lieutenant. Nice to have you back.” Her accent was so unmistakably English Garrison felt the tension rush from his body and relief wash back over him as she continued. “You are in hospital quite close to Oxford. You have severe concussion a number cuts and bruises but otherwise no major injuries.” She busied herself tidying the bedclothes. “We’ve been looking after you here for a few days. Now I am sure you must be thirsty, would you like some water?”  
The American nodded, he didn’t trust his voice but he wasn’t sure whether that was due to the dryness of his throat or to the emotion of knowing he was safe and back in England. At some point he would ask her how she knew his rank and how he had got there but in that moment it didn’t matter.  
“Not too much, just a sip,” she cautioned as she handed him a small glass of water, “but if you feel up to it you may be able to have a cup of tea later.”  
The Lieutenant smiled to himself. The English obsession with tea as a cure all, comfort or social event, proof indeed he was home. Home? When did England become ‘home’? He knew exactly. Since he had met and fallen in love with Beth, because she was here and had captured his heart. His eyes and features softened as he thought of her; somehow he would get word out to let her know that he was safe.  
He had been away for two months, probably posted as ‘Missing in Action’ until Actor and the rest of his men had arrived in Belgium. ‘Actor’, of course! It was Actor who had been in that icy gully with him. How had they managed to find him? He had become separated from them on a mission weeks before and had been trying to get back ever since. How had they got caught up in the battle in the Ardennes? There were so many questions he needed to ask. He shook his head in bewilderment and regretted the action straight away.  
He became aware of a light touch on his forearm.  
“Are you alright Lieutenant?” There was concern in the nurse’s voice. The officer dragged his attention back into the room.  
“I’m fine. Thank you.” His voice was husky despite the water.  
Garrison tried to gather his thoughts and once again heard music. It was much louder than before, more distinct and coming his way and then a group of nurses passed along the corridor outside his room singing. He listened to the tune as they continued, “Silent Night, Holy Night.” The words were in English, just as they had been before. What had made him think otherwise, expectation, imagination or pure exhaustion?  
“What’s happening?” He asked.  
“Oh! It’s a long held tradition here. On Christmas Day, the nurses sing Carols on the wards.”  
“Christmas Day?” He repeated. A slight frown furrowed his brow for a moment, how many days had he lost? He cleared the question and the frown. Time enough to find out later.  
“Yes. I should have told you straight away.” They listened in silence for a few minutes to the simple but very beautiful Carol, and as the final notes faded away there was a moment of stillness as each remained lost in their own thoughts. The nurse was first to move. “I’ll go and see about that tea. You are not to get out of bed. You must stay where you are and rest.” She made her way towards the door, paused and then turned. “Oh Lieutenant, there is one more thing.”  
Garrison looked up at her expecting even more instructions but she was smiling again.  
“Merry Christmas.”


End file.
